ELEANOR
I glanced at Armando cautiously-hoping to catch some clue in his expression-but his eyes were fixed outside his own window, his posture as rigid and composed as always.
It just didn’t make sense. Well, sure I wasn’t feeling too strong-my body ached, and the fever hadn’t let up since the rainstorm-but this was Armando Luca. He wasn’t the kind of man who cared about whether I was healthy or not. The only thing he cared about was his control, his power, and making sure I knew my place.
The car slowed as the chauffeur guided us toward the hospital’s entrance, weaving through the compound to find a parking spot. Armando had brought me all the way here across the city-putting me through the stress of getting all dressed up and everything-just to visit a hospital.
But why?
“Why are we here?” I asked as I still couldn’t help myself, my voice barely above a whisper. It cracked slightly, but I pushed through, forcing myself to meet his gaze even though I already knew it was a risk.
Armando turned his head toward me briefly-his dark eyes locking onto mine for just a second-but he didn’t say a word. He just looked at me and then turned right back to the window as though I hadn’t spoken at all.
His silence had a way of speaking volumes, and I wasn’t about to make things worse by questioning him again so I swallowed the lump in my throat and leaned back against the seat, my mind swirling with possibilities.
The limo finally came to a stop, and the chauffeur killed the engine. My hands fidgeted nervously in my lap as the stillness settled over us.
My heart had skipped a beat when I turned my gaze back to the window-my mind still racing-and noticed the hospital’s name, printed in bold letters above the main entrance.
This was the same hospital where my sister had been admitted.
The realization sent a wave of emotions crashing over me and the memories of her face-pale, weak and hooked up to machines-began to come fresh to me all over again. I was still caught in my thoughts-staring absently at the hospital’s main entrance-when Armando’s voice snapped me out of it.
“Get out,” he said, his tone cold and devoid of emotion.
I turned towards him-startled-as he sat on the far end, his posture as rigid as ever with his hat tilted forward slightly. His dark eyes glanced at me briefly before shifting away, but his voice cut sharper the second time.
“I said, get out of the car,” he repeated, his words laced with a subtle irritation.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should respond or just obey silently. But before I could even decide, Matteo stepped out quickly and opened my door and the chauffeur mirrored his actions on Armando’s side.
Armando stepped out first, buttoning his coat with casual precision as though he had all the time in the world. Then, as I hesitated-unsure of what to do, he approached me, stopping just close enough to make his presence uncomfortably imposing.
“Stick close to me,” he said in a low voice. His eyes bore into mine, cold and unwavering. “And don’t do anything embarrassing.”
My heart pounded slowly, not because of fear-though that was part of it-but because I hated how powerless I felt under his gaze.
Together, we walked toward the hospital’s entrance.
Armando moved with the kind of confidence that turned heads, his hand gripping mine just tight enough to keep me tethered but not enough to seem possessive. It was his usual act of pretense-a gentlemanly charade he put on whenever we were in public.
The automated doors slid open with a faint hiss, revealing the bustling scene inside. Nurses in blue scrubs moved briskly through the corridors-their clipboards in hand, while patients sat scattered across the waiting area-some looking tired and others distracted with their phones or conversations. Children fussed at their parents’ sides, and the low hum of voices filled the air.
A long queue of people stretched out before the reception desk-most of them looking weary and impatient-and I immediately felt the weight of their collective frustration, but Armando, he didn’t even seem to want to notice. He just strode forward with purpose-ignoring the line entirely-and pulled me along with him.
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I heard the murmurs begin, hushed but unmistakable. The people in the queue exchanged looks-their displeasure evident-but Armando, however, acted as though they didn’t exist.
When we reached the desk, the receptionist-a young woman with tired eyes-looked up from her computer. Her gaze shifted from Armando to me and then back to him, her expression cautious.
“I need to see a doctor,” Armando said, his voice steady and firm. It wasn’t a request; it was some sort of command.
The receptionist was a chubby lady with a friendly but professional demeanor. She glanced up at Armando after hearing his bold demand and offered him a polite-firm-smile.
“Sir,” she began, her tone careful, “as you can see, there is already a queue of patients waiting to book appointments. If you don’t mind, I would kindly ask that you join the line so I can assist everyone in order.”
I stood awkwardly to the side, acutely aware of the eyes boring into us from the long line of people. Most of them looked annoyed-with a few outright angry-and my stomach churned with guilt as I caught the hostile glances they aimed our way.
Some were mothers with young children, looking visibly tired and frustrated, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were stepping on them with Armando’s entitled attitude.
Armando’s gaze shifted briefly to the queue, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He turned back to the receptionist, leaning in slightly. “I’m not really the kind of person who waits in queues,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance.
I stiffened, feeling the weight of the stares intensify. My face burned, and I wished I could fade into the background. The murmurs from the line grew louder, a low hum of dissatisfaction that Armando seemed completely unfazed by. How could someone be so brazenly indifferent? Did he not see the resentment on their faces-or did he just not care?
The receptionist-now visibly uneasy-tried again, her voice faltering slightly. “Sir, I understand, but I really must ask you to exercise patience. Please wait your turn so we can assist everyone fairly.”
Armando chuckled softly, the sound cold and deliberate. He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Patience?” he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. “You see, I’m not here to waste time standing in line. And I certainly don’t have the time to wait for a slot just to be told to come back another day.”
His gaze flicked toward me, and he gestured subtly in my direction. “How could I possibly keep this beautiful lady waiting?” he added, his voice laced with mock politeness.
My eyes widened in shock. What in the world was this insane man doing? The murmurs behind us grew louder, and I knew exactly what the people in the queue were thinking-that I was the reason Armando was acting this way. My heart sank as I felt the atmosphere shift towards me and I instantly wanted to crawl under a rock.
“Sir,” the receptionist said hesitantly, clearly struggling to maintain her composure. “If none of the doctors are expecting you, I really must insist-”
Armando interrupted her smoothly, his tone casual but commanding. “Call the head doctor,” he said. “Tell him Mr. Armando Luca is here to see him.”
Her eyes flickered with hesitation. “The head doctor?” she echoed, as if to confirm.
“Yes,” Armando said simply, “He’ll know who I am.”
The receptionist glanced nervously at the line-clearly aware of the growing tension-and after a brief pause, she sighed and reached for the phone. “One moment, please,” she said, her voice quieter now.
I watched as she dialed and my stomach twisted even more as the line behind us grew restless. The hushed complaints turned into louder whispers, and I could feel their anger directed squarely at us. Still, I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.
Armando, however, stood there completely unbothered, his hands in his pockets and an air of smug confidence radiating off him. It was infuriating how unaffected he was.
The receptionist finished her call shortly and hung up the phone. “The doctor will see you shortly,” she said, her tone cautious as she turned back to us.
Armando gave her a small nod, as if he’d done her a favor. “Thank you,” he said smoothly.
He had gotten exactly what he wanted-bypassing everyone without a shred of guilt or concern-and now we were walking away while the line behind us buzzed with frustration and indignation.
As Matteo trailed behind us, Armando placed a hand on my lower back, guiding me towards a waiting area. His touch wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either-just enough to assert control.
When we sat down, I finally found my voice, though it came out quieter than I intended. “Did you really have to do that?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed ahead.
“Do what?” he asked nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair.
“Skip the line,” I said, my words more rushed now. “There were people already waiting. Mothers with kids even. It just… it wasn’t fair.”
He turned to me, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Fair?” he echoed, his tone amused. “The world isn’t ‘fair’ bambina. You think those people in line would hesitate to take the opportunity if they were in my position?”
I frowned, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “Maybe they wouldn’t. But still, that doesn’t make it right.”
“Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice low and firm. “I don’t wait in lines. And neither do you as long as you’re with me.”
I didn’t respond. His world was different from mine and so trying to make him see things through my eyes always turned futile. Sometimes I wonder why I still tried.